


when I die, I want your hands on my eyes

by rokkasen



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Destroy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17625365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokkasen/pseuds/rokkasen
Summary: When one door closes, another one opens. (In which Shepard learns how to start again.)





	when I die, I want your hands on my eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. I have a lot of Feelings so please accept Part 1 of this shmoop. Also, Pablo Neruda poetry.

It began like this:

She could smell burning flesh and hair, felt throbs of pain throughout her tired body. She tasted plastic and metal and smoke, dimly heard the gasps and scrambling of people sitting vigil at her bedside.

When Shepard could finally open her heavy eyes and see, she saw him, of course. The one person who would always be at her side, in life, in death, and everywhere in between. Garrus Vakarian was grasping her hand so hard that it hurt but she couldn’t complain; pain was an old friend, a constant, a reminder that there was no rest for the weary.

As she gagged on her breathing tube, she could hear someone -- Chakwas? Miranda? -- exclaim they couldn’t believe she was alive.

Me either, Shepard thought, almost amused. Someday, she would run out of miracles, but not today.

Garrus leaned over and Shepard craned her face as far as she could go, desperate to tell him something. Everyone in the room held their breaths.

“Just remember, I took the killshot.”

Shepard fell back into blissful unconsciousness, a smile on her face.

\---

It was about three months after she awoke that Shepard realized beating the Reapers and cobbling together mass relays was the easy part. Trying to figure out how to rebuild her life? Learn to live with the consequences of her actions? Again? A much greater challenge. 

“I’m great at breaking things.” Shepard drummed her fingers against the tray table across her hospital bed. “Cleaning up the universe? I’m not sure that’s in my wheelhouse.”

Kahlee Sanders laughed. “I think you’ve done a little more than point, shoot, and hope for the best over the last fifteen years. You’ve saved a few lives and planets and oh, entire races along the way, wouldn’t you say?”

“Maybe one or two.”

“So humble, Commander,” Kahlee teased. 

Shepard opened a bottle of water (a precious commodity these days in a war torn galaxy), shaking it a bit towards Kahlee in a sign of offering, before taking a sip. “Oh, yeah. You know me. I’m going to insist they erect a gold plated statue of me on Tuchanka instead of platinum and diamond. Gotta keep it understated and classy, you know? Times are hard.”

“Somehow, I don’t think Urdnot Wrex knows the meaning of the word ‘understated’, so good luck with that. I heard a rumor there’s already an all Krogran rock opera in the works titled, ‘Shepard, Quads of Steel.’”

Shepard sputtered on her water, inelegantly holding her nose in an attempt not to spray Kahlee. “Oh my God.” Garrus would never let her live that one down. “Please, please tell me you’re kidding?”

Kahlee’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I can neither confirm nor deny. You’re a hero to them, Shepard. To everyone. You might as well get used to it.”

Shepard groaned, putting her head in her hands. “God, don’t make me more worried that there’s going to be an entire generation of Krogans all named Shepard. It’s going to be just like that year everyone was named Jessica or Jennifer.” She groaned again, not sure whether to laugh or to cry. “Awful.”

The older woman reached out and took Shepard’s hand. Shepard was surprised at the sudden, intimate gesture, but didn’t shake her off. “Can I give you some advice, Shepard? I’m no David, but I’ve been around the block a time or two.”

“Sure, Kahlee. I could use all the advice I can get right now.”

“Take this time to find your happiness, Shepard. To heal. You’ve done enough for the universe.”

Shepard gave Kahlee a wry smile and gently squeezed her hand. “Can you put that in writing? I don’t think Hackett would agree.”

“You’re still young, Shepard. Don’t wake up in twenty years wishing you had done things differently. There’s still time.” 

_Time for what?_ Shepard desperately wanted to ask, but wasn’t quite brave enough. _I don’t know how to do anything except be a soldier and live and die for the mission._

Kahlee’s voice was heavy, but she didn’t cry. A soldier through and through. “Promise me, Shepard. Promise me you’ll try.”

Shepard squeezed her hand again, but stayed silent. 

She didn’t want to break any more promises.

\---

“So,” a beautiful Asari doctor began as Shepard lifted herself from the bed, supporting herself on her ever present cane, “where to next, Commander?”

Shepard wiggled her fingers, her toes, stretched her back until it popped. All limbs were accounted for, even if a few were currently under construction. The singed ends of her signature red bob had been freshly cut and damn if a pair of clean underwear didn’t make her feel like a new woman. Even with the plethora of new scars and a permanent limp, Shepard thought that she was still pretty passable.

Only one way to know for sure.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, leaning in just a tad too close to be misconstrued as platonic, giving the doctor what Jack swore up and down was her patented “fuck me, I’m Commander Fucking Shepard” look, “where will you be when you get off duty?”

The doctor gave her an arched look but Shepard saw a dark blush spread across her cheeks. I’ve still got it, Shepard thought with a smirk. She might have been down, but she certainly wasn’t out.

“Don’t tease me, Commander,” the doctor said lightly, tapping Shepard on the shoulder with her datapad gently. “I happen to know on good authority that a certain Turian gentleman, who has shown up here every day for the past six months mind you, will most certainly be taking up all of your free time.”

Shepard could practically hear Garrus’ playful, long suffering sigh and _Of course, I just had to attach myself to the most desirable woman in the entire galaxy. Like my self esteem hasn’t taken enough hits over the years?_ “Tell me you’ll at least think of me when I’m gone,” Shepard implored, unable to keep the shit eating grin off her face.

“I’ll be thinking how happy I am to have some peace again. No reporters, no Krogan breaking down doors, no visitors suspiciously materializing outside of visitor hours,” the doctor said with a content sigh.

Shepard barked out a laugh as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “But think of how bored you’ll be.”

The doctor practically shoved Shepard out of the door. “Goodbye, Commander. May you walk with the Goddess.”

 _Well,_ Shepard thought as she hobbled towards the exit of the hospital and plunked on a pair of sunglasses. _Where to next?_

Hackett had wanted her to lie low for a while, avoid the press and the limelight while the Alliance and the Council got their shit together, but still wanted her reachable. “Just in case,” Hackett said evasively, and it had taken all of Shepard’s self control not to roll her eyes and flip off her superior. Even after all she had done, she was still the Alliance’s lapdog through and through, forever at their beck and call.

God, she was tired. Even after six months of forced bed rest, she was just so exhausted.

So, where to next?

Wherever the hell she wanted, Shapard decided, and powered up her omnitool. Preferably with the one person in the galaxy she could stand to be around for more than a few hours at a time.

 **[J. Shepard to G. Vakarian]**  
Better learn how to hold a hammer fast, Vakarian. Palaven needs rebuilding. 

**[J. Shepard to G. Vakarian]**  
Luckily for you, your girlfriend is a farm girl at heart who got all A’s in woodshop.

 **[G. Vakarian to J. Shepard]**  
Are you high? I knew that morphine pump was a mistake.

**[G. Vakarian to J. Shepard]**  
Shepard?

 **[G. Vakarian to J. Shepard]**  
????????

Shepard pressed the button on her omnitool to close out the message, grinning at the image of Garrus in her mind’s eye: frantically trying to call her, pacing around his temporary quarters, muttering a few complaints, but also throwing his tools into a travel bag without hesitation because he would follow her to the ends of the universe (with only mild complaining). 

While she waited for him to meet her, she slid her fingers along the holoscreen. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for -- an old password protected folder from Anderson titled “Poems (probably too cheesy for you Shepard but give them a listen anyway don’t give me that look it’s not like you have anything better to do in lockup)”

She clicked play and closed her eyes.

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --  
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long  
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station  
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep...  


\---

Palaven was still smoking, but God, was it beautiful. 

It was ghost of its former magnificence, Shepard surmised, all silver and fire and full of flora and fauna that could probably kill her. But even through the wreckage and the slews of injured and dying, Shepard knew splendor and history. Palaven was full of tall proud people, tall proud building, shining in the darkness. 

It was hot and balmy and the modified envirosuit that Shepard was forced to wear so she didn’t succumb to radiation poisoning was doing nothing to keep her cool. She could already feel the exposed, pale, freckled skin on her cheeks start to tighten uncomfortably under the strong sun but she was no quitter, radiation be damned. 

Cerberus had put a shit ton of credits into her skin weaves. She hoped, for her own sake, they got their money’s worth.

Shepard and Garrus were met with excitement (well, as much excitement as Turians would show in public) and reverence, soldiers and civilians alike swarming over to salute and shake Shepard’s hand. Primarch Adrien Victus held her gloved hand for a little longer than necessary and she could have sworn that Garrus had a rather pinched expression, but it was gone by the time she blinked.

“So this is home.” Shepard tilted her head to look up at Garrus fully. His expression was unreadable; no anger, but no joy, either. 

He only slid an arm behind her, hand pressed to the small of her back, as he guided her through the crowd. It was a very familiar, affectionate gesture, especially in public, especially for a Turian, especially for two people of their status, and people took notice. 

_Well, well, Vakarian,_ Shepard thought, trying not to look too pleased at the stoic confidence that radiated off of her boyfriend, the boyfriend that Generals still saluted, _just tattoo your name on my ass while you’re at it._

“So, Garrus,” Shepard began again, hoping to take his mind off of whatever it was he was worrying about. His family? His people? The looks some of his countrymen were giving her as she hobbled by? “Just how many people have to die for you to become Primarch?”

“Don’t you start,” Garrus grumbled, trying to give her a reproachful look and failing. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Sorry. I know I haven’t been the most fun to be around today.”

She nudged him with her hip. “No explanation necessary. I know this is hard for you, but I think you needed to do this. I wanted to do this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The Turians are allies. Victus is a friend. And I can’t wait to meet your dad and sister,” Shepard said. There was a moment of hesitation as her confidence wavered and then -- “That is, if you think I’m ready to meet them. I shouldn’t assume --”

Garrus suddenly pulled her behind a crumbling building, out of the line of sight. Her throat was tight as he gently pressed her against an adjacent alley wall. Her face was burning and it had nothing to do with the strong sun and lack of magnetic fields. “Shepard. I would be proud to introduce you to my family.”

“Because I killed a few Reapers?”

“Because you’re the most amazing woman in the entire galaxy,” Garrus corrected. “With a shot second only to mine.”

“You smooth talker.” Shepard dug her fingers into the shoulders of his armor, tugging him down. Her cane clattered to the ground but neither moved to pick it up. “You know just what to say. Just wait until I get you alone later.”

His laughter was a smooth rumble, washing over her tired bones. “Promises, promises.”

\---

“‘Scuse me,” a small voice said. A tiny, alien hand squeezed hers, breaking Shepard’s concentration. “Can you help?”

Shepard looked up -- down, really -- from her datapad, right into the fresh, bare face of a small Turian child. She had never seen a Turian child before, since she supposed it was rare they went off world before their military service began, and Shepard had to admit… this kid was pretty cute. 

Besides, the distraction was more than welcome. Garrus was honestly much better at operations than she was, but since her physical condition left her actually unable to hold a hammer and nail for long, Shepard had been tasked with organizing workers and allocating resources. When Commander Shepard asked for things, people tended to listen.

But Jesus, was it boring and tedious.

“Hey,” Shepard greeted warmly. It was a little hard to tell, but she guessed that the child was female, maybe around six or seven. “What’s your name? I’m Shepard.”

“Reli,” she said. The hand not holding Shepard's was pressed to her lips, biting nervously. “Mom said to always look for helpers when you need it and you’re a helper.”

Couldn’t argue that. “Where’s your mom?” 

Reli pulled her hand away from her mouth to point to a medical tent. Shepard’s heart dropped. Was she hurt? Or worse, dead? Another casualty of war? Was Reli another angry orphan in the making?

A female Turian rushed out of the tent, markings on her face similar to Garrus’ in color, but not in design. Shepard still didn’t quite understand the colony marking system so she had no idea if this was a Vakarian cousin, a neighbor, or someone completely unrelated. She made a mental note to ask him later.

“Aurelia, you can’t just run off, it’s dangerous,” the female huffed. Her name tag read Rhea. She was wearing medical garb, thought it had clearly seen better days with holes and blue blood stains. “The buildings aren’t stable and -- Commander Shepard?”

Shepard waved. “Hi.”

The older Turian looked embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, was Aurelia bothering you? I know she’s been bored and restless but I just can’t leave my post right now. Come on, Reli. Don’t bother the Commander. We’ll get a new story for your datapad.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem. We were just talking.” Shepard looked at Reli for confirmation. “Right, Reli?”

Reli nodded solemnly. “Just talking, Mom.”

The poor woman looked stressed beyond belief; Shepard couldn’t help but feel sympathetic. “I’m on break right now,” Shepard lied. “I can hang out with Reli for a bit while you finish your shift. Would you be okay with that?”

“Oh no, Commander, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I couldn’t possibly ask the savior of the galaxy to babysit.”

Shepard waved her hand, as if knocking away the thought. “Not a problem. Really.”

Rhea looked back at the medical tent. She was weighing her options and duty had obviously won out. _What a good Turian,_ Shepard thought. “Alright, but I’ll only be another half an hour. Be good, Reli.”

Shepard finally rose from her seat. When Rhea was safely back in the tent, she turned to Reli, intent on giving her her full attention. “So, what do you need help with?”

“Varry,” Rhea replied.

Shepard racked her brain, running through her mental dictionary of Turian terms. How she wished, not for the first time, EDI was still around. After a few more seconds of deliberation, Shepard decided that she had absolutely no idea what ‘varry’ was. “I’ll need a little more info. What’s a ‘varry’?”

Reli giggled. “Not a what. A who.” Shepard raised an eyebrow. “Varry the varren.”

Oh. Hell. No.

Did they even have varren on Palaven?!

Shepard prayed to any god listening that this varren was of the invisible, imaginary sort. “And… what does this varren in question look like?”

Reli giggled again and hummed in thought. “He has one eye and some of his fluff is coming out.”

Shepard sighed with relief. Varry the varren was a toy. Thank. God. Honestly, she had done more pointless search and retrieve missions than finding a stuffed toy and she would rather eat ten helpings of the weird, slimy blue meat that Tali and Garrus were so fond of than go back to work, so this was a refreshing change of pace. She was in. “When was the last time you saw Varry?”

“My house. But we had to leave… and I left him behind...”

Shepard squeezed her hand. “Hey. We’ll find him, okay? Don’t worry. Show me where your old house is.”

They walked among the rubble and broken streets, hand in hand, chatting idly while they strolled. Shepard talked a little bit about growing up on Mindoir (the censored version, of course, where nothing bad ever happened and no one had ever heard of Batarian slavers) and some of the games she liked to play as a little girl. Reli talked about her mom and dad (both still alive) and an older brother (also alive) who apparently thought Shepard was, “pretty hot, for a human.”

“Does that hurt?” Reli asked, gesturing towards Shepard’s leg. 

“Not much anymore,” Shepard assured her.

“Maybe Mom can help you. She fixes people.”

No one could fix her leg, not even Reli’s amazing mom, but she didn’t want to burst her bubble. Life was hard enough and Reli had enough sadness to deal with. Shepard hoped she could bring the little Turian just a bit of happiness.

Reli used to live in a nice house. It was still standing but just barely. There were char marks and water damage and strange, gray mold starting to grow in the crevices. Much too dangerous for Reli to go into. “Which one was -- is -- your room?”

Reli pointed and Shepard got to work on jimmying the window open. She probably could have smashed it, but it just felt disrespectful with Reli standing right there. Thankfully, it was on the first floor and she didn’t need to scale up any walls. Reli’s room looked just like any other little kid’s room, filled with some toys and and games furniture, including a round little bed that was clearly made for Turians. She wondered if Garrus’ childhood room looked like this. 

Probably more model guns, Shepard thought. And real guns. Maybe some Blasto figurines.

“Here little Varry,” Shepard sang, as though the stuffed animal could answer her back. “Come to Shepard.”

Poor Varry was wedged between a dresser and a wall and Shepard hissed as she got down on her knees -- including the bad one -- to try and dislodge him. It took a lot of tugging, cursing, even bargaining, before Varry would get loose. He was burnt and broken, but he would live another day. A kindred spirit, she thought wryly.

As soon as the stuffed animal was out, what was left of the wall started to crack ominously and Shepard crawled away quickly with a vulgar curse, her knee burning so badly that her vision started to go white. This is what she got for trying to be kind.

“Shepard! Shepard! Are you okay?” Reli’s tiny voice called. “Should I help?”

“No!” Shepard barked. The wall was still in tact, but just barely. “Don’t come close to house.”

Shepard dragged herself, stuffed animal tucked under one arm, back to her cane and struggled to get up. Her clothes were covered in grime and she tried not to inhale deeply, just in case these strange Palaven spores didn’t agree with her very human lungs. Wouldn’t it have been something if she survived the Reapers just to die on a mission to rescue a stuffed animal?

She tossed Varry out of the open window and followed after him, tumbling out with a grunt. If only Anderson could see her now. A highly decorated N7 that had fallen out of planes and off mountains and she could barely get her ass out of a first floor window.

Reli was beside herself, making distressed noises as she clutched Varry to her chest. “Shepard! Shepard, don’t die!”

Shepard coughed but tasted no blood and felt no pain in her lungs. Both good signs. She sat down on the ground shakily, hoping she would be able to get back up. “I’m fine, Reli. Don’t be sad. You’re going to make Varry sad. Aren’t you happy to see him?” 

Reli nodded profusely, burying her face against the ugly stuffed animal. Totally worth it, Shepard decided.

“I leave you alone for five minutes and look at you,” a familiar voice said from behind her. “Breaking into houses without me, Shepard?”

Crap. “You were off being all busy and important. I needed to do something to occupy my time, Vakarian.” She didn’t protest when he helped her up, supporting most of her weight. Bless him. “And it was a very important rescue mission, I’ll have you know. Meet Varry the varren and his friend, Reli.”

Amused didn’t even begin to describe Garrus’ expression. “I see. Nice to meet you both. I’ll expect a full debrief later, Shepard. Don’t you dare leave out any details.”

“How’d you know where I was?”

“I make it my business to know,” Garrus said simply. “Though usually, you leave a trail of destruction in your wake, so you’re not that hard to track down.”

“Ah.”

Reli reached for Shepard again and something, something scary that she was unwilling to put a name to, blossomed in Shepard’s chest. “Thank you, Shepard. You’re the best helper.”

“You’re welcome. Take care of Varry. Maybe get him patched up, he’s seen better days.”

Comfortable silence fell upon the group as they walked back and Shepard couldn’t help but sneak looks at the happy child. Life could be good. People could overcome differences and work together. There was kindness, even in the darkest of times. This was why she fought, she thought. 

In Reli, Shepard saw the future.

And it was beautiful.

\---

Shepard had faced down a lot of intimidating adversaries in her day but she had never been as nervous as she was staring across the dinner table at Castis Vakarian.

He looked like what she imagined Garrus would look like in twenty or so years, same build and sharp lines and colony markings. Solana, who was seated across from Garrus, had a similar look but softer, prettier, with wider eyes and a smaller physical presence. Even with their differences, they all looked like a family, with the same body language and a familiarity that made her heart ache for her something she hadn’t had in so long.

Solana had been very welcoming and warm; Castis was polite but distant. He had been very, very glad to see Garrus; probably less so to see her.

It wasn’t that Shepard thought Castis was racist or disliked her purely for being human. No, Shepard had probably not been the best influence on Garrus, despite her attempts to keep him on the straight and narrow. She had been a Spectre, someone who often operated outside of the law to get the job done, and seemingly joined up with a human terrorist group, and Castis was someone who appreciated red tape and regulations. Her death had also been the catalyst in Garrus’ decision to go rogue and become a murdering vigilante that had nearly got him killed. She imagined that wouldn’t endear her to any of the Vakarians.

Castis reminded Shepard a little of Hackett, not quite as familiar as Anderson, but not too unpleasant, over all. Just set in his ways. It made her relax a little.

Solana dished out dextro meat to Garrus, whose body was wound tight as he glanced between his father and his girlfriend. He was ready for a fight, Shepard thought. She had to avoid that at all costs.

“Commander,” Castis said, not unkindly. “Galaxy saving aside, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for my son.”

Oh well, that was actually --

“You’ve been a mentor and an exemplary commanding officer to him. No doubt he’d be dead now, if it wasn’t for you.”

Shepard smiled her Commander Shepard smile, the one she gave to reporters, polite and warm and totally non-threatening. The dinner table was not the place to correct Castis that while yes, she had been a mentor and something of a commanding officer at some point, she didn’t think the way his son banged her so hard in her quarters that the bed frame literally snapped could be misconstrued as platonic.

“I could say the same for him.” Shepard squeezed Garrus’ knee under the table, silently willing him to be cool. “He’s watched my back more times than I could count. You should be proud of him.”

“Oh, we are,” Solana trilled, pouring Shepard some water. Shepard took it gratefully and gulped it quickly to wash down her mediocre levo rations. “I’m sure Garrus did a great job watching your back… and your front… and all over, really, I mean, Commander Shepard, it seems you’ve certainly got a lot of places to _watch_.”

Garrus choked on his food. Shepard liked Solana immediately. “Excuse me? Did I miss something?” Castis asked, genuinely confused.

“Oh Dad, come on,” Solana said, rolling her eyes. “It’s so obvious. You’d have to be blind not to see the way Garrus moons over the Commander. _Everyone’s_ talking about it.”

They were? Huh. Well, there went the neighborhood.

“Hey--” Garrus started.

Castis looked at Garrus. Then to Shepard. Then back to Garrus again. “Solana, don’t embarrass your brother in front of the Commander,” he decided on.

“Thank you, Dad--”

“It’s perfectly natural for a soldier to develop feelings for their commanding officer, especially during times of war,” Castis said to Shepard, as if she hadn’t lived on the Normandy, chalk full of hormones and Unresolved Sexual Tension, often aimed right at her. She supposed, in his own way, he was trying to defuse the situation for the sake of his son. “Garrus’ crush--”

Garrus’ proverbial hackles were rising. “It’s _not a crush._ ”

 _Abort, abort,_ Shepard’s internal security system was screaming. This was getting ugly and fast. Maybe it had been a mistake to coax Garrus to come back to Palaven. She was always forcing her views on him for what she thought was his own good -- convincing him not to take the first shot at Dr. Saleon, letting Sidonis go unharmed -- but maybe she didn’t know best. 

“Solana, I’m dying to hear more about your medical work,” Shepard said, once her voice started function again without cracking. “I heard that some of your scientists are in the process of working on a new kind of dextro medi-gel that’s supposed to shave a few seconds off of heal time.”

“Dad, you’re wrong,” Garrus said calmly, clearly not getting the memo that Shepard was trying to change the subject and save dinner. _You’re killing me, Vakarian_. “I love her.”

The room went dead silent, sans Solana’s spoon falling out of her hand and clattering against her bowl. The internal siren inside of Shepard was screeching for her to do something, anything to diffuse the situation, but what the hell was she supposed to do? Deny it? Lay claim on Garrus right then and there? Ask his hand in marriage? Fake a heart attack?

Garrus had only ever said _I love you_ to her once, right before they both thought she was going to die. Words were not his forte and Turians were, apparently, not as free with words of affection as humans. Sometimes when he got drunk he let slip how much he cared for her, how much he adored her hair, her eyes, proclaimed his love for the whole world to hear. But Sober!Garrus was much more action oriented, showing his concern and love for her with small actions that never left her doubting.

 _Now was not the time to get sentimental,_ Shepard thought, steeling herself for the fall out. 

Castis’ stare bore into Shepard. She felt a drop of sweat slide down the back of her neck but she didn’t flinch. She was Commander Fucking Shepard and she would not be intimidated. “Is that right?” he asked, his voice mirroring the serenity of his son’s. “And you, Commander?”

“He’s very important to me. Garrus has been by my side through everything. There’s no one else in this world I trust more,” Shepard said without hesitation. “How could I not love him?”

“I see,” Castis said simply, as if they were discussing the weather. “You know things will be difficult.”

Garrus started to rise from the table and Shepard put her arm out to stop him. “Mr. Vakarian. I would never stand in the way of Garrus’ happiness. I want what’s best for him, for his career, his planet, and of course, his family. If I needed to let him go--”

“Shepard,” Garrus said warningly, pleadingly.

“-- I would do it. But,” she said with a smile, “I’d still fight like hell to keep him.”

Garrus finally pushed himself away from the table, stalking to what Shepard assumed was a spare bedroom. She grabbed her cane and followed him, closing the door behind her.

“Okay, I give up,” Garrus said. “I’m defeated. You win. I’m seduced. Take me, I’m yours.”

Shepard shook her head with mirth. “As tempting as that is, I don’t think us having sex in your dad’s house is conducive to getting him to like him.”

“Who cares what he thinks?”

“You do,” Shepard said simply, taking his hand. “And because you do, I do, too. Don’t worry. If he’s anything like his son, I’ll have him eating out of the palm of my hand in no time. And before you ask, yes, that’s another human idiom.”

Garrus shook his head and pulled her close. The silence stretched on for a few seconds. “You know, I’d fight like hell for you, too.”

“I know, Garrus. I know.”


End file.
